


Winter Has Me in its Grip

by oooknuk



Series: Love and Other Bruises [4]
Category: due South
Genre: Hypnosis, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-24 22:07:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10750758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oooknuk/pseuds/oooknuk
Summary: Someone comes between Fraser and Ray in an unexpected way. Ray has to repair the damage





	Winter Has Me in its Grip

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All characters you recognise will belong to Alliance. No infringement of copyright intended. Not for profit. 
> 
> Warnings: language, m/m, non-consensual sex, a frankly ludicrous plotline. 
> 
> Author's notes: This assumes you have read 'Love and other bruises'. It is a sequel to 'Trying to survive'.

I have, on occasion, been given orders by my superiors which I have found questionable, but never have I had one which I have wanted to outright disobey as much as the one Inspector Donald delivered this afternoon. My back is ramrod stiff as I try and dissuade my superior officer.

"With respect, sir, I am sure that escorting the lady in question is something that one of the junior officers would enjoy far more than I."

"I'm not asking you to enjoy it, Constable. You are the senior officer and to send her with a junior escort would be regarded as an insult. This request comes from high up - do you understand? The lady... she's ... put it this way, she's caused a few problems that the present administration would prefer did not come to the attention of the press. Especially not the American press."

"Problems, sir?"

He coughs slightly, somewhat embarrassment. "She's ... rather fond of 'les liaisons dangereuses', Constable. She has a knack for attracting the wrong sorts of people, and making a public fool of herself. Which the Finance Minister finds highly embarrassing. All they're asking is that she has a pleasant time while staying here and that she is kept out of trouble. The job needs diplomacy and tact, and someone who can keep their wits about them. I would, of course, normally undertake it myself, but I ... well ... I have personal considerations. You have no reason to object, do you?"

"Well, sir, I am in a similar position to yourself in that I too have 'personal considerations.' My partner may not ..."

"It's not the same thing at all. I'm sure your 'partner' will understand. Now, unless you have more to say on this matter ...?"

I understand orders, both explicit and implicit. "No, sir."

"Very good. Dismissed."

I close the door behind me, resisting a strong impulse to slam it, and retreat to my office before giving vent in my own mind. The Inspector has casually dismissed my relationship with Ray as being in no way comparable to his own. Yet he is married to a woman who, I have reason to know from her own mouth, can't stand him. His attitude is more than insulting, and duty or no duty, if Ray objects to this, I am going to tell the Inspector that taking a woman of leisure to dinner and the opera simply to appease her brother, is not something I will agree to do.

Ray, fortunately, thinks it's amusing.

"Always said the only way to get you on a date with a chick was to make it an order, Ben," he says, laughing, curled up in my lap on the dark March evening.

"So you don't mind?"

"Hell, yes! I don't like you spending time away from me, you know that. Am I jealous? No. Should I be?"

"I shouldn't have thought so, Ray."

He gives me a dazzling smile. "So, we're cool. Anyway, it's your job, and I don't want to screw it up for you over something like this."

"It's not right, though, treating an RCMP officer like a ... like a geisha."

Ray's eyes grow round, and he shifts , straightening his legs out. "Ben, isn't that a fancy word for a hooker?"

"No, not exactly, Ray - the proper analogy is that of an escort, albeit a female one, for a high status man."

"Er, Ben, escorts _are_ hookers - here, anyway."

"I assure you ..."

"Look, it's okay. I know you're not gonna do the nasty with her. What's the opera you're gonna see?"

"Oh - it's 'Carmen'."

"What's it about?" He gazes up at me with apparently genuine interest.

"Well, it's the story of a gypsy, Carmen who works in a cigar factory. There is a fight with another woman, and some soldiers, including the dashing Don Jose, arrest her. But he falls for her charms .... "

"Is he good-looking?"

"Undoubtedly. And upright, and honourable and dutiful, until he falls in love with Carmen, allows her to escape, thus betraying his duty and his fiancee, Micaela. He is imprisoned...."

"So, the girl turns the guy into a criminal?"

"Oh yes. He ends up killing his captain, who also wants Carmen, and Carmen herself. It's a tragedy."

"She must be something else."

"Well, she certainly has a kind of bewitching charm, and the girls in the cigar factory work in rather revealing clothing. Don Jose is probably a little overwhelmed...."

"So, in the cigar factory, what does she do?"

"She rolls the cigars."

"How?" His hand is tracing delicately over my stomach as he speaks.

"Well, she takes the leaves, and puts them..."

"Where?"

"Here, on her thigh and I think you know this story already, don't you."

He grins. "Yeah. Stella rented us the video. The one with Julia somebody or other - she was pretty hot."

"Julia Migenes Johnson..."

"That's her. And that big Spanish guy, Lake Placid or something...."

"Placido Domingo and you're doing it again, Ray."

"What's that, Ben?"

"Playing down to people's expectations."

"Didn't fool ya, huh?"

"No, you didn't. Did you like 'Carmen'?"

"It was good. Liked the singing, and the costumes and stuff. I knew a lot of the songs - Mum used to play classical records all the time. Got a bit slow in the second half, but Carmen was pretty sexy, and the guys in uniform were okay."

"We could go and see a live opera if you'd like some time."

"Nah, not my scene - I like the music, but I hate all that dressing up stuff. That was Stella's bag, not mine. You go have fun with the minister's sister and then come home and then ..... I'll let you play with my cigar."

"I'm rather counting on that, Ray."

 

* * *

Inspector Donald receives my report on my uneventful evening with Marie Arnoldt without comment, and thanks me for carrying out the task. The evening spent with her doesn't occupy my thoughts at all after that - we are suddenly busy preparing for two important social functions at the Consulate which involve some detailed security arrangements. I have to work late most evenings that week, and for a change, Ray is usually home before me. Arriving home to find him there is a sweet pleasure - I hadn't realised how much I treasured domesticity until we began to live together. This evening when I arrive, he's cooking - not something he does often, but he does it well, and I inhale the smell of garlic and tomatoes with satisfaction. He kisses me on my way to the bedroom to change.

"A package came today for you." He indicates the pile of mail on the sideboard. I change into civilian clothes and get a glass of water before opening it.

"Oh, it's from Marie Arnoldt. She said she had a video I might find interesting. Would you like to see it?"

"Sure - I'm only making spaghetti sauce, it can wait." He puts the tape into the video player and we settle back on the sofa to watch. Oddly, although I recall Miss Arnoldt saying she would send me a tape, I can't actually remember what she said it was about. Oh well, we'll know soon enough.

To my surprise, the images are poor quality. We see a bedroom, and there are two people engaged in coitus on the rather large bed. I am a second behind Ray in recognising the participants, but his sudden sharp gasp, and his white face confirm that he knows at least one of them intimately. It shows Miss Arnoldt and myself  'in flagrante' as lawyers so politely put it. Ray lets the tape play on for a few more seconds, the grunts and moans of passion filling our quiet living room, then raises a hand and uses the remote to shut the loathsome thing off. He stands, not looking at me.

"Gee, Fraser, you don't do anything by half, do you?" he says calmly. He walks over to the video player, ejects the tape, and tosses it at me.

"Ray, I... I ..." I stutter out, too shocked to be coherent. My chest has gone suddenly tight, my mind blank.

"Well, Ben? This'll be good - what is it? It's a fake, right? Someone else's body?" He knows that's unlikely, he is being coldly - bitterly - sarcastic in a way that cuts me like a knife. My silence answers him.

"No fake, huh? So what's the defence? Drugs? Temporary insanity? You got set up by Candid Camera?" My continued silence makes him angry, and he pulls me to my feet. "Fuck you, Fraser! You got  _nothing_ to say?"

"Ray... I don't remember ... I can't explain...."

After the words leave my mouth, I realise how ridiculous they sound but it is too late to recall them. Ray is rightly scornful. "Oh that's great, Fraser, that's terrific. You just shot our marriage to hell 'cos you had to sleep with some fucking bimbo with a video recorder, and you say you don't remember? Do you think I'm gonna fall for that? Can't explain - bullshit. How about you just fancied a little pussy after all this time - it's not rocket science."

"Ray! That's not the reason - it never could be."

He picks up the video case, and holds it up. "Exhibit A, Ben. That isn't anyone else fucking that woman like there's a fire sale on condoms. That's you. Sure doesn't look like there's a gun to your head, or that you're hating every minute of it."

He throws the video down again,  walks away from me to the window, then suddenly turns around. "You know, you were the one person I thought everybody could count on. They could drop the bomb, the big one could hit, and everyone else would be scrambling around, looking out for number one. But not you - you'd still be the good little Mountie, always helpful, and upright and honest, no matter what. I woulda said you being you was more certain than death or taxes. Now I see you're no better than anyone else. Well fuck that, Fraser - I don't need you to rub my nose in how much you're just like the rest of us. You don't need me, I don't need you, and I don't need this."

Then he stalks out of the room, jerking his coat off the hook angrily. I hear the front door slam shut and our car start up. I am too stunned to speak, or to go after him. What can I say? That it isn't me - when the evidence is clear? That I don't remember - what on earth does that matter? That I don't recall the act is immaterial - I have done the one thing - the only thing - that could destroy Ray's trust and his love for me.

He doesn't return for hours. I had intended to wait for him to talk to him, but with each passing minute, my courage is deserting me, knowing full well that I still have no explanation to offer. I drain the pasta, and turn off the sauce he'd started, but am too sick at heart to eat. I spend time moving around the house, drifting in and out of rooms, tidying already spotless bookshelves, folding laundry, little domestic details which remind me all too clearly of what I have let slip through my fingers.

Finally, when I can think of nothing else to do, and it is clear Ray will not return until he thinks I have gone to bed, I put the video back in the player. There is no enjoyment in watching myself and another person be degraded in this way, but it is mercifully short, terminated when Miss Arnoldt walks over to the camera and is seen to switch it off. I think that is all, but then she appears again, dressed, and alone. She addresses me directly, and then it is perfectly clear what has happened.

I have let my baser instincts betray another friend - my partner - just as I did all those years ago to Ray Vecchio over Victoria. I haven't learned a thing - I have grown more arrogant, and so the hurt I have caused is much greater. I have betrayed Ray. I have betrayed the uniform. And I have betrayed myself and all I believe in.

My course of action is clear now. There is only one thing that I must do - the only thing I can do. It won't repair what damage has been done, but at least no more harm will come to Ray from me.

I rewind the video and leave it behind, with some idea, I suppose, that to take it or destroy is tampering with evidence. I pack my belongings,  explain to Diefenbaker that I am going, and write a note for Ray to say where I'll be. I don't attempt to apologise - this goes well beyond apology. I don't say I love him - I've lost the right to say even that. In the end, it's a rather cold, informal letter which says nothing of my feelings. It will hurt him, but I suspect that it will be as nothing to what I have already done.

I say goodbye to my wolf, and to my life as I knew it. My father was wrong - you do sometimes get a second chance in life. There's just no guarantee that you won't ruin it twice.

 

* * *

It's weird how calm I feel. Actually, it's weird that I don't feel anything. Don't want to hit anyone, not even Ben, or the woman. Don't feel angry any more. Just ... empty. Just ... lost. I know I'll feel mad again soon. I know I'll want to hit something or someone ... eventually. But all I want to do now is run, drive away from my wrecked life. Drive away from the man I love, who has betrayed us, broken us into a million pieces. I drive for an hour or two and it's only when I can't see any more for the tears in my eyes that I get off the road, and let it out. Just raw, empty, grief. And all that's left, when it's over, is one huge question.

The only person who can answer it is Ben.

The house is dark when I get back - Dief bounds up to meet me at the door, but there's no sign of Ben. The meal I was cooking has been turned off, the pasta drained, cold and obviously untouched. I find Ben's note on the table. As 'Dear John' letters go, it leaves something to be desired.  
 

> "Dear Ray
> 
> I now realise you were right. What I have done is unforgivable and I have betrayed you. I'm going to a hotel for the night, and then I'll be at the consulate. I'll write you with my contact details.
> 
> B."

  
So. Confirming my worst fears. He doesn't try to insult me by saying he knows how I must feel, or that he loves me, or any of that crap. We've been too honest with each other in the past for that to work. But all the same, I wish he had - I wish he'd stayed and let me yell at him. I just wish he was here.

I sleep in the spare room.

 

* * *

At least I've had practice at this - getting on with my life when my heart's been ripped in two. People at work don't know there's anything wrong. I work harder, stay longer, but as no-one there has met Ben, or knows much about my home life, the fact I don't talk about it is nothing new. I have to come home every night to feed Dief, and that's what I do - that and sleep. I get through the first week without a shred of emotion showing, without losing it once. I even congratulate myself that I'm getting better, stronger - I don't need anyone any more.

That idea gets a big hole blasted through it when Lieutenant Welsh turns up on Saturday night for poker and dinner in the usual way. I'd forgotten all about it, and him, until I see him on the other side of the door. He knows something's up the second he sees me.

"Ray? What's wrong? Where's Fraser?"

I go into the living room, and he follows me in. I sit and look up at him. This is the first time I've had to tell anyone, and it sucks. Big time. "He's gone, Lieu."

"What do you mean, 'gone'? Gone - dead? Gone fishing? What the hell are you talking about?"

"Gone as in left."

Welsh sits in the armchair, leans forward a little. "Okay - what have you done this time, Kowalski?"

This is the thing that finally breaks the dam. "Oh that's rich, that really is. Ben fucks me and then fucks off, and you assume it's something _I_ did. Well, I ain't done _nothing_ , boss. It's your pal that's been screwing around."

Welsh looks poleaxed. He raises a hand. "Hang on, Ray. Fraser? Are you out of your mind?"

"Not yet - I wish I was," I say through gritted teeth. "Look, watch this if you don't believe me." Fraser left the fucking tape behind, and I shove it into the machine.  He watches in sick disbelief.

"Turn it off - I've seen enough." He grabs the remote and stabs at the stop button. "There must be a reason ... did he say anything?"

"Just said he couldn't remember doing it."

"Drugs?"

"Did he looked drugged to you?"

Welsh winces at my tone. "Alcohol - I know he doesn't..."

"Drink ... yeah, or screw around either. But he'd have to be damn drunk to forget that, and he was stone cold sober when he got home that night. I woke up, he told me about the opera. Face it, boss. Fraser just proved he's as fucked up as the rest of us."

"Ray - I'm sorry. I just couldn't believe ... that Fraser would ...."

"You and me both, Lieu."

Shit, now I'm crying in front of Welsh - not for the first time, but I hate myself for it anyway. I scrub the tears off my face with my shirtsleeve and glare at him angrily. He doesn't rise to it.

"Jesus - I don't know what to say."

"Unless it's along the lines of 'wake up, Ray, this has all been a horrible dream', I don't think there's much you can say. I dunno - maybe Fraser didn't think this guy marriage thing was for real."

"Ray, I don't know why he's done this, but I'd bet my life on the fact Ben took your marriage as seriously as you."

"Not any more."

"Did he say that?"

"He didn't say anything.  He just left."

"Have you tried to talk to him?"

"I called a couple of times - he wouldn't talk to me. And they won't let me in at the consulate. There's not a lot more I can do - he doesn't want to see me."

Welsh is still trying to make sense of it. Give it up, lieu. It won't work.

He pulls himself together and looks at the mess of a human sitting across from him. "You can't let this beat you down, Ray. You'll get through this."

"Yeah - but I don't want to. I don't want to live in a world where a Benton Fraser can fuck around behind my back. If that can happen, there is no God, and no point at all."

Welsh doesn't have an answer for that. Who could?

Welsh is a brick - I always knew he was. Once he's over the shock, he's solidly behind me. Won't let me retreat into a shell. Keeps me dealing with the human race. He's right, I can do this, I really can. Why I should, no-one can tell me, but I can do it. And I'm doing really well - right up to the day I get the note from Fraser to give me his forwarding address care of the RCMP detachment in Norman Wells, and a letter from the lawyer assigning his half of our place to me. Then I crack. I want to get out of my old life so fast it leaves skid marks. I put the house up for rent, our furniture into storage, and send Dief back to Fraser. Welsh lets me rent a room from him. In two weeks, it's like Fraser never existed. Except in my head.

The day I put Dief on the train, I go out and get drunk. Very drunk. And Welsh comes with me. The old guy's hurting too - he's lost a damn good friend. So have I - my best friend. And, hell, it doesn't solve anything. What the fuck are we gonna do? Crying into our beers doesn't help. Neither does the hangover.

The worst thing is that he never even tried to explain, like his guilt was self-evident. I keep thinking I should try to call him again, but I can't face what he might say - that maybe he didn't really love me, that maybe I didn't satisfy him because we didn't do some things in bed he might've wanted, that maybe being faithful wasn't his bag after all. No, better to keep wondering than to know that. Besides, Stella kinda immunized me against pushing a thing when it's over - you go through that, you learn that seeing someone you once loved, who once loved you, spit in your face and on all your plans for the future, is worse than being alone.

I suppose I'm just not that surprised things didn't work out - look at my history. It's just that I was so damn sure ... it felt so good ... oh Jesus, I miss him. I'd take him back in a heartbeat. Even if that makes me look like doormat king of Chicago. But he's not coming back.

 

* * *

Okay. You should be over it now, Kowalski. It's been three months, for crying out loud. Not a peep from Fraser, so his feelings are damn clear, even if mine aren't. I'm not doing this again. I spent two fucking _years_ mooning over Stella, and I'm getting too old for this shit. I declare my own Fourth of July. Kowalski Independence Day. Friday night, I buy a bottle of Jack D, and decide I am gonna watch that little porno movie from start to finish, and get that fucking Mountie _right_ out of my system, once and for all. And then I'm gonna throw the wedding ring away, change my will, and just get over myself. And him. Tonight.

Welsh is out supervising a stakeout, so I can really tie one on without getting in his face. I put the tape in, pour myself four fingers of bourbon and take a couple of big slugs of it. Then I press 'Play'.

There's not a lot to it - that bitch only sent us the last ten minutes or so of the action, then she turns the camera off.  There's a couple of seconds of fritz, then she's back. All dressed up, made up. Ben's gone. She's got a slimy smile on her face that'd make me smack her if she was here. Then she starts to speak and then I'm the one who feels like he's been smacked.

_Hello, Ben. Did you enjoy the show? Hope Ray liked it._

Fucking bitch! She meant me to see it. She's playing with a shiny pendant around her neck.

_I suppose you're wondering how I did it - it was so easy, lover. You know, you really shouldn't play at self-hynosis, it leaves you open to all sorts of interesting suggestions. You must have been hungry for it, Ben - it only took a minute. I suppose you're wondering why, too._

Her face loses that nasty smile, and she leans forwards. Her voice is a snarl.

_You see, Ben lover, I just get so tired of people pushing me around - baby-sitting me. Do you and your Mountie friends think I'm a fool? That I don't know what you're up to? Well, now you know I know, and you can all leave me alone in future. The next guy who takes me out  because of orders will get a nice little present sent to his boss - and to the press. So, this is a warning.  Oh - and say hi to Ray for me. It's the least you could do, since you didn't shut up about him all night._

She reaches forward and snaps the thing off. And then it really is over.

Oh my god. Did Ben see this bit , I wonder? The tape was rewound. Can't tell from that.

When Welsh walks in past midnight, I practically knock him down.

"Ray, what the hell's wrong with you? You drunk?"

"Yeah. No. Boss, you gotta see this." I drag him into the living room, over to the TV, and start the tape. As soon as he sees what I'm playing, his lip curls in disgust.

"Kowalski, this isn't funny..."

"No, it's not. Just listen, will you?" He refuses to sit, but as he watches, and hears what I did, his face gradually transforms. He's as mad as I am.

"That damn bitch," he spits. "You never asked Fraser about this?"

"No, I told you - he just left. I never watched the whole thing before ... you know ... it's ...I was just trying to get over things tonight. Look, are you still in contact with Inspector Thatcher?"

"Meg Thatcher? Uh...." He looks embarrassed, and I think there's some history there to be dug up at some other time. "I think I got a number for her somewhere. Why?"

"Cos I want to get some more information on this Arnoldt chick. Can you run a check on her at the station?"

"Sure - but what's the point?"

"The point is that Ben's blaming himself for this - you know what he's like. He's probably convinced himself he corrupted the poor little virgin or something. "

Welsh puts his hand on my arm, and says gently, "Ray, I think you have to try. But it's been three months, and he's been on his own all this time. It's not gonna be that easy. I mean, he's damn stubborn, he might have moved on...."

"I know, Lieu. But it's all I've got. I still love him. I miss him all the time."

"So do I, Ray. So do I. We owe him this. Okay, let's get the dirt on this female."

Welsh calls Thatcher and she agrees, unofficially - and only because it's Ben who's been caught up in it - to look at the security report on Arnoldt, and let Welsh know the gist. He runs a CPD check on her, and she's a known associate of some really creepy people. I know our case has to be airtight to have a hope of convincing Fraser. Finally, I take two weeks' vacation and fly to Norman Wells to try and fix what, between me being blind and stupid, and Ben being so God almighty blind and stupid and noble, has been so completely busted.

 

* * *

I fly into Norman Wells on a Monday morning and hike into town. I call the station before I come in to find out when Ben's shift ends, so I can catch him before he leaves. The shock on his face when he sees me is  matched on my own - Jesus Christ, he looks bad. Thin face, dull eyes, pale, unhealthy skin -  if someone told me he didn't just leave three months ago, he died, I don't think I could argue different on the evidence I got here. I recover, plaster a fake smile on my face.

"Hi Ben, how you doin'?"

He comes up to the counter, too surprised to be polite. "Ray - what are you doing here?"

"I was in the neighbourhood, thought I'd look up an old friend. You mind?"

He swallows, and for a second, I think he's actually going to tell me to leave. But he doesn't, and before he comes up with a clever reply, I close in.

"Thought you and me could have a talk. I brought supper," I say, holding up the plastic bag. He winces, but then his politeness kicks in.

"Of course, Ray. My shift finishes shortly. Where are you staying?"

"Uh, could you put me up for a couple of nights, Ben? " This is really pushing it but I'm gambling on manners and guilt carrying it off. It works.

"Yes - all right. I will be with you in ten minutes. Please excuse me." Then he turns away from me, like I'm any other caller to the station, leaving me to sit on the funky plastic chairs they have in places like this. My heart is racing - I hadn't bargained on Ben looking so bad. He looks like he's two minutes from cracking wide open. This is going to be tougher than me or Welsh thought - I 'm gonna have to watch my step.

Exactly ten minutes later, Ben comes round to the front of the counter, and we walk out together like a couple of regular buddies - not like a married couple that's been separated - totally - for nearly four months. He stops by a side door and picks up Dief, who jumps all over me. I kneel down and let him lick me.

"Hiya, furface. You missed me? Glad to see someone did." I don't look at Ben's face while I say this, but as I straighten up, I catch the end of a pained look. He doesn't say anything though, just relieves me of my duffel bag.

His place is a three bedroom RCMP duplex, a couple of minutes walk from the detachment. He asks politely about my flight, but avoids even a hint of a question about the reason for my visit. Maybe he's afraid I'll start an fight with him right out on the road.

He lets me and Dief in ahead of him. It's a fair sized place, big enough for a family, but it's bare. Empty. Totally soulless. I thought I was shocked by the way Ben looks, but when I see how he's living, I'm at a loss for words. Not a single picture, photo or book. There's a minimum of furniture, just a small table and four wooden chairs, a single armchair that clearly came with the place and a sofa that's seen better days. Ben takes my bag into the living room, and I put the food into his refrigerator. Which is empty, and turned off. I look in the cupboards. Also empty, surprise, surprise. The only food in the place is a bag of oatmeal, and a couple of bags of dry dog kibble. I bite back a swear word. Ben is obviously too far gone for a lecture on looking after himself, at least until he sees what I brought with me.

He's still in the living room, looking lost and confused.

I flop down on the sofa, and make him sit in the armchair.

"So, how you been keeping, Ben? You don't look so great, I have to tell you."

"I'm fine, Ray. I've just been busy." He's still waiting for me to explain my sudden re-appearance in his life.

"Should I get supper started?" I ask. Diversionary tactic.

He shakes his head. He wants to get this over with.

"Ray, I really don't know why you're here."

Is that a warning to back off? He hasn't exactly been friendly since I got here.

"You didn't say goodbye, Ben."

"I know. I'm sorry. Did you come all this way to point that out?" He looks as if he's expecting a fight, and is willing to let me have at him because he's too weary to defend himself.

"No. I didn't. Can I ask you something?

"You came all this way, I suppose you can."

Okay, he's pissed. Hey, Ben - you're not the only one who's screwed. But I keep my temper. "What happened that night?"

"That night.... you mean, with the....?"

Yeah, Ben. The night that your lady friend captured in glorious Technicolor and sent the proof to our home for our viewing enjoyment. Remember?

"Yeah. What did you think happened?"

"Ray, you saw the video....."

"That's not what I'm asking, Ben. What I said was, what do _you_ think happened?" He wipes a hand over his face, clearly trying to put confused ideas in order.

"We had dinner, and went to the opera. Then I took her back to the hotel, she invited me in for tea, we talked, and I took a cab home."

"So, no ... hanky-panky?"

"No.... well, I mean, yes, I know it took place, but all I really remember is talking to her, drinking tea and leaving. I'm not trying to excuse myself, but I just don't recall much else. Ray, you must believe that...."

"I do believe you, Ben."

"You do?" Clearly astonished. "You didn't, before."

Well, yeah, I deserve that. I hadn't given him much reason to think I trusted him, not after what I said when I saw the damn thing.

"Yeah, I know. God, Ben - you know how it looked. But I did something a couple of weeks ago I should've done right at the start of this goddamn mess - I watched the whole tape." His face twists in self-disgust. "I was gonna ... I thought... I thought if I watched it, I could finally get over you, get on with my life.  I did what I shoulda done right at the start. I used my head."

"Ray, there's no need to berate yourself...."

"Ben. Just shut up for a minute. You gotta listen to this."

He shrugs and waits. I start playing the audiotape I made off the video - I had a feeling, and I was right, that he wouldn't have a player or a TV, so I borrowed my dictating recorder from the office. He flinches when he hears his own voice, moaning in passion, and then Arnoldt starts to speak. He pulls the tape recorder out of my hand and turns it off.

"I've heard this, Ray. I know what she says."

Now I am the one to be taken by surprise. "You _knew_? You knew she hypnotised you and you still left?"

"I don't see how it excuses me at all. Not only must I have wanted the act to take place at some level, I put myself in a situation where she was able to do that. It was a betrayal of your trust and my duty."

His voice is totally cold, and it frightens the hell out of me. "Ben - you're not thinking straight. How can it...?"

He cuts me off,  and stands up "Ray, please. I've had several months to contemplate this, and while I appreciate your attempt to rehabilitate me, I don't think this changes anything. And ..." he falters. The anger that's been holding him up just disappears, and all I see is a tired, worn out man who I love so much it hurts. I reach up a hand to him, but he ignores it.

"I'm sorry, Ray. I have to ... I ... I really need to go for a walk. Excuse me." Then he strides out of the room, doesn't even take Dief, leaving me like a stranded fish.

Well, that went well. I'd forgotten about Fraser guilt. Finest in the world - nothing beats it. Okay, Kowalski. Time for plan B. Of course, I don't have a plan B. But I'm working on it.

Ben's gone long enough that I'm beginning to worry about him. He didn't take a coat and although it's not freezing outside, it's not that warm either. I hear Dief bark and then he's in the room, looking so desperately tired that all I want to do is put my arms around him and tell him everything's all right. But it's not, and he's got a barbed wire fence up to keep me, and everyone else, out. He stops and looks at me, a little dazed, as if he thought I might not still be here.

"Ray ... I'm sorry, but I'm tired."

"Ben, I need to talk to you..."

"I know," he says tiredly, rubbing his thumb across his eyebrow.

He's dead on his feet. I come to a decision and stand up and come over to him.

"Ben, it's okay. We'll talk tomorrow. Just go to bed." I can see there's no point in pushing things tonight - Fraser' s no different from anyone else, he doesn't function well when he's exhausted, and especially not in the state he's in.

"I'll get my bedroll...."

"Don't you want me to sleep with you?"

He looks confused. "You want.... you want to sleep with me?"

"It's not a new idea, Ben. Married people do it all the time. Do you want to?"

There's clearly an argument going on inside his head.

"Look, I promise to keep my hands to myself, if that helps?"

He nods and then shakes his head. "I'm sorry - it's not you."

"I understand. Don't sweat it." I grin, to show I'm not mad at him, and he gives me the tiniest grin back before the mask comes back. I let him putter around and use the bathroom, get undressed, before I slip in beside him. It's not good he didn't eat supper, but I've got plans to deal with that. Right now he needs sleep. He needs a lot more than that. With any luck, he'll let me give it to him eventually.

It's so strange, after all this time, to be sleeping with him again, close enough to smell him, to feel the warmth radiating off him. So strange, to have been intimate with him for nearly three years, and now to have to consciously not touch him. But I can't just cuddle up to him like nothing's changed - we're both raw, him more than me. I know it's not me that turns him off, it's himself. I ache for him -he's so sad. I want to kill that bitch. But first things first.

I don't sleep well, but that's okay - I need to be awake before him. He moves just before the alarm goes off, and I see him get up.

"Uh uh, Ben," I say softly. He starts, and jerks round to me. "You're not going to work today."

"Don't be ridiculous, Ray," he snaps, "I have to go in." He starts to get his uniform out of the closet. I jump out of bed and slam the closet door shut under his outreaching hand. He moves back and glares at me.

"You're going to call in sick. We have to talk."

"What gives you the right...?"

I hold up my left hand, the one with the ring. "This, the vows I made to you, that's what gives me the right. Now you are going to call in sick, or am I going to call in for you? And believe me, Ben, you don't want me to call in for you."

"Are you threatening me, Ray?" His voice is icy cold.

"No, I'm promising you. If I call in, I'm gonna ask to speak to your boss, and then I'm gonna tell him that one of his officers is suicidally depressed and in danger of a serious breakdown. You decide, Ben."

He presses his lips together, and I can tell he's absolutely furious. "Ben, I'm not doing this for me, I'm doing it for you. You _are_ sick - you just don't realise it. If you saw anyone else in your condition, you'd do the same thing. I'm not Victoria, Ben." He jerks at the name - he forgot he told me about her getting him to take days off so they could play doctor. Suddenly he folds up and sits on the bed. I put my hand on his shoulder, and he looks at me, in despair and in pain, deep lines around his eyes and his mouth that weren't there three and a half months ago - a face that hasn't smiled in far too long. "We'll work it out, Ben. I promise. Trust me, even if you don't trust yourself."

Slowly he nods, then puts his head in his hands. "You really shouldn't be doing this, Ray."

I sit next to him on the bed, and hold his left hand up with mine, so we're looking at the two rings. I suppose I should be grateful he's still wearing his. "In sickness and in health, Ben."

"I don't deserve..."

"Well, maybe you think that. But I deserve, I want. Give me this, Ben."

"All right." He gives in, too tired to fight me.

I pat his shoulder. "Good man. Now, you hungry?" He shakes his head. "Okay, if you say so. But this is the way it's gonna be. You don't eat, I don't eat. You don't bathe, I don't bathe. You get sick and die, I'll shoot myself with your revolver."

Straight for the jugular. He looks at me, anger in his eyes again, but I won't let him argue. "No, Ben. I let you run this from the start, and you've fucked up. Nearly killed yourself. What were you gonna do? Let me find out when I heard from your lawyers sorting out your affairs? That's really crappy. Now we do it my way, or I'll go to your boss, and I guarantee you, you'll be on psych leave so fast your eyes'll water. You want to stay on the job, you eat, you sleep, you talk, and you let me look after you."

"Please, Ray." His voice is husky with tears. "Please leave me alone."

"I can't, Ben. Not now." My own voice is pretty damp too. He hangs his head, and doesn't speak for the longest time. I want to hug him - I want to slug him for what he's doing to himself. I should punch myself for being so fucking stubborn and proud, and leaving him to stew in his own juices for so long.

Finally, he lifts his eyes to mine. "All right, Ray."

Nothing more than that but that all I need to hear right now. "Come on, let's eat."

Looking at him in daylight, in just his boxers and a T-shirt, I'm stunned at how much weight he's lost. He's skinnier than me, and since he's bigger boned than me to start with, that's serious. Damnation, that boss of his needs shooting - how could he not see what was happening to Ben? I think we'll both be better after a meal. I make oatmeal - it's either that or the steak. Without sugar or cream, it's not great, but I know he can eat it if he wants too. But he doesn't - he just plays with it. I watch him doing it for a while and then I lay down my spoon.

"Fraser? You don't eat, I don't eat."

"You promised Beth Botrelle you wouldn't do this, Ray."

Oh, low blow. Well, I got a lower one. "You promised you'd never leave, Ben." He stares at me. "Yeah, you forgot that, didn't ya? I didn't make you leave, you decided that all on your own. So if we're talking about broken promises, I think the scales are hanging a little low on your side, buddy. Now pick up the damn spoon and get some food in your mouth. I'm hungry."

He glares at me, and if I were a sensitive flower, which I'm not, I'd be really crushed. But I'm not. Bigger, tougher men than you have taken me on and lost, Benton Fraser. Finally, he starts pushing food into his mouth, like he's angry with it. I grin and match his movements. Eventually he clears his bowl and I take the dirty dishes into the kitchen. Damn, no coffee. Definitely need a shopping run today.

I go back out and sit at the table. He's got a sullen look on his face which tells me I won this battle, but the war's still going on. Well, he can keep that up all day - I can do cranky too, if he wants.

"Well, since you aren't dead, you must eat sometime. You mind telling me when?"

"I ... I get lunch at the station."

"No supper?" He shakes his head. "Why?"

"Not hungry."

"Not hungry, Ben? Mr 'three square meals a day' Fraser? Mr 'I got an extra layer of subcutaneous fat' Fraser? What the fuck did you think you were doing? You're in freakin' Canada now - you'll freeze to death." He just looks at me steadily. "So, that's what you wanted, Mountie? You just gave up, didn't you."

"Why do you care, Ray? You know what I did, you know what I did to us. Why are you even here? You're wasting your time, there's nothing here for you any more." He's trying to sound mad, but only succeeds in sounding tired and desperate. He doesn't fool me for a second.

"Are you telling me you don't love me any more, Ben? Tell me that to my face, and I promise, I'll be on the next flight out." I stand up, walk over to his chair and kneel in front of him. "Tell me you don't love me any more, to my face."

"I... " He stops.

"Come on, it should be easy. You were ready to kill yourself. Saying a few little words to get rid of me should be a piece of cake." I keep looking at him right in the eye.

"I...I can't, Ray."

I grin, even though my heart is breaking for the wreck of a man in front of me. "Knew you couldn't. You couldn't lie. So you still love me?"

"Yes, " he says, so softly I can barely hear it.

"That's okay then. Everything else is just details. Now, you go and shower, then call your boss." He trails into the bathroom, and I make a shopping list, feed Dief and let him out.

Ben comes out of the bathroom in just his boxers, and I can see every one of his ribs. I can't resist going over to him, putting my hands on his shoulders. I touch his chest gently. "God,  I hate this, Ben. Go, call the station."

He's just sitting in the armchair, staring into space when I come out of the shower. "Get dressed, Ben." He starts - he was in a world of his own. We both go in and change, and then go back into the living room. I really want that coffee, but I got to talk to him first. But when I come over to him, he's holding his middle, looking pale and sweating.

"What the hell? Ben - you're sick. You should see a doctor."

"I already did. It's just  the gastric nerve. She says it's stress."

Jesus - how much stress does it take to make _him_ sick. "Can't they give you anything for it?"

He smiles without humour. "She said I should learn to relax."

Oh, right. Very helpful. "Is this why you're not eating?"

"Partly." He doesn't elaborate.

"And...?" He uncovers his eyes and gives me a pained look.

"I wasn't hungry .... and ... eating on my own, remembering meals with you ... it was too much. It's all right at the station ..."

"But not here." He nods. "I know what that's like." I go and sit by him on the sofa, and he makes room. I rub his stomach gently, and put the back of my hand against his cheek. "I think you should start by taking it easy today. We got things to talk about, but there's plenty of time."

"How long will you be staying?"

"Two weeks. That okay with you?"

He looks at me with soulful eyes.

"Look, Ben ... let's leave it for now. I'm gonna get some supplies in, take Dief for a walk. There's nothing you need to do, so just rest. Okay?" He nods. Even though he's slept all night, there's dark circles under his eyes, and he looks shattered. His eyes follow me as I get ready to leave, but they're already closing as I shut the door after me and Dief.

Ben's still asleep when I get back, curled up on the sofa. I unpack quietly, and then hear him mumbling, so I go and sit by him again. He opens his eyes. He looks calmer, but still sad. I stroke his face. "Feeling better?" He nods.

"Good. Got some coffee, tea - some of that grass stuff you like. Would you like something?" He starts to say no, but sees the look on my face which tells him that isn't an option, so he decides he wants the chamomile tea. I bring it over with some cookies on a plate. He sits up, tries to look presentable. I'm pleased to see he eats the cookies without me having to hassle him. Maybe we are getting somewhere.

"Really love what you've done with the place, by the way, Ben."

He looks around at the bare walls, and pulls a face.

"It's the way I lived ... before ... and I didn't see the point of making it into a home .... not just for me." Not when he didn't plan on sticking around either, I think. "The only thing I really missed about ... our house.... were the sunflowers you drew."

"Why?" Even though I know why.

"Because ... well .... they reminded me ...."

He doesn't finish, so I do.

"Of the first time we made love?"

He shakes his head. "The first time you let me make love to you." He lifts his face and there are tears in his eyes.

"Ben, it's okay," I say softly. "I got a present for you while I was out." I stand up and get the paper bag and hand it to him. He pulls out the sunflower fridge magnet and the Van Gogh reproduction card.

He looks at me, amazed. "How did you...?"

"Great minds think alike, my mum used to say."

"My grandmother used to add, 'and fools never differ'."

I take the card from him and set it on the shelf. "I think I prefer Mum's line."

He admires the small brightness the card brings. Picks it up to look at it more closely, before setting it down again. "So do I, Ray."

I check my watch, and realise it's lunchtime. I slap the fridge magnet up, start heating some canned tomato soup, which he always used to like, and make some toast too. I dish it up and bring it into the living room. He's staring into space again. Not a good thing at the moment, giving that man time to think.

"How's your stomach, Ben?"

He puts his hand over it, and winces. "A little rough, Ray. I don't think I should..."

"No, you can't play that with me, Ben. It's just soup and toast. Invalid stuff. Eat." He doesn't like being told what to do. Well, I don't much like having to do it, but on the other hand, I sure as hell don't like the idea of what'll happen if he doesn't eat. He tastes the soup and he must approve, because he spoons it up. But before he's half done, he pushes it away.

"Ben, you have to finish it - it's not that much."

He looks at me, annoyed, and tries a couple more spoonfuls, but stops again, rubbing his middle. "I'm sorry - I can't. It's too salty."

I sigh, and take the bowl off him. We'll have to take this slow then - at least if I can get him used to three meals a day again, that'll be a start. He had to do the same for me when I got out of hospital that first time - never ate breakfast until I lived with him.

"What about some ice cream?" For a second, his eyes light up - he loves ice cream, it's his biggest weakness, like me and chocolate. But then he shakes his head.

"No, I shouldn't."

I clear our soup plates away and scoop out a big bowl of vanilla for him, a smaller one for me.

He scowls when I put it in front of him. "You obviously didn't hear what I said, Ray."

"No, gone deaf. Caught it off Dief. Must be hunger pains." I grin at him, and wave my spoon at him. Finally he realises that I'm not going to start until he does, and starts taking a few small bites like a kid with a bowl of spinach. Yeah, well, my mum had a trick to get us to eat spinach, and broccoli and all the other 'yucks'. I start telling Ben about the singer we had visiting who wanted to sacrifice a chicken in his hotel room. Ben chips in with a witch doctor he met before I joined the 2-7, even before all that voodoo shit we got involved in. Between me and him swapping stories, he doesn't even realise he's finished the bowl until his spoon hits china and comes up with air. He looks at it in amazement, and I have to laugh.

Works every time. "Gotcha, Ben." He looks at the bowl, looks at me and then he grins. An honest to goodness smile. "You want some more?" He shakes his head again, but he's still smiling. Progress.

"How's the stomach now?" He rubs it.

"Better. I don't feel so ill."

I clear up and come back over to him.

"What do you want to do now, Ray?" he asks.

"You better not go out, since you're on sick leave, but I got some things at the store." He looks at me, puzzled. "Hey, you got no TV, no CD - what's a guy supposed to do?"

"Talk?"

"Later. Now - poker or chess or newspapers or cheesy novels?" I spread the treasures out. Already there's more colour in the room, and in his cheeks than there's probably been in three months, and he looks a little better.

He chooses the cards, and we play poker for matches for a couple of hours, talking quietly about what's been going on in our lives while we've been apart. No blame, no recriminations. Just .... getting to know each other again. Rebuilding.

He says, all of a sudden, "I was glad you sent Dief back. It helped."

"Couldn't stand it any more, looking at him. Wasn't any point in us both missing the hell out of you. It was bad enough looking at Welsh's puppy eyes without Dief's too."

"Welsh?"

"Jesus, Ben, you should see him. It's like his kid died, or he got cancer. He went out and got as drunk as I did the day I sent Dief back."

"I'm sorry, Ray. I didn't know."

"Didn't know what, Ben? That Welsh loves you like a son? " My voice is raised, despite myself, and I put the hand of cards down. "Still don't know why the hell you had to run out like that. You owed me a goodbye at least. Owed Welsh that too."

He straightens up in shock.

"I thought you wanted me to leave, Ray."

"Stupid damn Mountie - where do you get ideas like that? You could've stayed and fought it out with me."

"And say what, Ray? Apologise to you? Ask for forgiveness?"

"I would have forgiven you - you'd forgive me."

"You ... you would never do such a thing."

"Neither would you."

He sighs and puts his cards down too. "We're going to talk about this now, aren't we?"

"Guess so. How's the gut?"

"I'll survive."

"You want some more tea?" He nods, and while I'm making it, he clears up the cards, and then comes into the kitchen behind me. I hand him his cup, our fingers brushing. On impulse, I turn and put my arms around his waist and lay my head on his shoulder. He puts his cup down and wraps his arms around me.

"I've missed you, Ray," he says into my hair.

"Me too, Ben." We stand and hold each other for the longest time. So wonderful to be held again by him, even if I can feel his every rib. At last he pulls away and looks at me.

"Talk?"

I nod, and he picks up our cups and carries them into the living room. I sit in the armchair, pull it up close, so I'm facing him on the sofa. He waits for me to begin, looking at me all solemn and Mountie-like.

"Why do you blame yourself?" I ask

"She couldn't have done what she did without my wanting it at some level."

"So?" He looks at me blankly, shocked. "Ben, she's attractive, and I could go for her myself if I didn't know what she was like. Are you telling me that if I hadn't existed, you wouldn't have at least thought about it?"

"I ... possibly." He drops his eyes, but I put my hand under his chin and lift his head again.

"But if she hadn't hypnotised you, would you have thought about it at all?"

"No! Of course not. Apart from anything else - even apart from my obligation to you - I was on duty that night. That's the other thing that makes this unforgiveable.  It's not as if I wasn't warned she was ... difficult."

"Shit, Fraser - who the hell expects someone to hypnotise them on a date? I mean, it's crazy. If I hadn't seen the evidence for myself, I'd never have believed it. You wouldn't have believed it. And anyway, I'm the one at fault here. I should've worked this out three months ago. If only I watched the whole fucking tape back then, I would've."

"You weren't to know," he says softly.

"Well, that make us even in the stupid department, so stop hitting yourself over the head. And don't tell me your boss would blame you for this. Geez - you should be suing them for putting you in the road of someone like her."

"Ray, I accept risk as part of my job - just as you did."

"Come _on,_ Ben. This isn't a normal part of anyone's job. They make you escort someone who's a trouble magnet, don't tell you she's done this before ..." He looks shocked. "Oh yeah - they didn't tell you, did they.  Meg Thatcher did some digging - she's one bad little muthafucka. You think you're the only Mountie she's put the moves on?"

He's too amazed to speak. He gets up and walks to the window, and for a minute or too, I think he might be going to bolt again. "That's criminal."

"Yeah, she is."

"No - not her, she's obviously mentally deranged. But to knowingly put RCMP officers in that position - my God." He stops as something occurs to him. "Donald - he _knew._ No wonder he wouldn't take the escort duty."

He comes and sits down, but instead of looking better for realising that he wasn't the only victim, he looks worse. "They betrayed me - all this time, I thought I'd let the RCMP down, and they betrayed me - and the rest of us."

I take his hand. "Ben - the bosses suck. You know that, I know that. It's the same in the PD - it's the same in my job now, if you want to know the truth. You have to live with it - they screwed you for years."

"Well, not quite as literally as this."

The sudden realisation that Ben has just made a joke and shown he knows some slang takes me by surprise, and I bark out a laugh. He scowls.

"I don't think it's very funny, Ray."

I clamp my lips together, but he keeps staring at me, which makes it worse. Then I see the corner of his mouth lift up, which just does it for me, and I cackle out loud. Then he really smiles.

"I suppose there is a ludicrous side to this situation I hadn't appreciated before."

"That's right. And the important thing is that now you know, and you know I want you back, will you come back to me?"

He puts down his mug on the coffee table, pulls his earlobe, and doesn't speak for a minute. Finally -"What if I hurt you again? ... I hurt people ... I ... I'm good at it."

"Oh, bull shit. Give it up, Ben. This is bigger than both of us."

"You always were addicted to risk, Ray."

"No, just to you." I sit next to him, put my arms round him, and he lets me. "You're my drug." He turns in my arms to face me.

"You don't know me, Ray. I don't know me."

"Ben, I know you better than you do yourself. I got to have you."

He rests his head on my shoulder. "It still worries me, knowing that the ability to .... well, to betray you ... is somewhere inside me."

I shake my head in disbelief. "For fuck's sake, Ben, you didn't know you were betraying me. And so what - I don't think I'd want you wandering round in my brain, there's some stuff there I don't want _anybody_ to see. Everybody has. Who died and made you perfect?"

"No-one, evidently," he says, dryly. "It's just I had put a lot of faith in my principles and sense of duty, and they are apparently no protection at all."

"Maybe they're a cage your brain's being trying to bust out of. Maybe you should learn to unlock the door and do some exploring, and not wait to have the walls kicked in."

He looks at me, shocked. "Society depends on morals and duty, Ray."

"Yeah, but society doesn't expect you to live in a straitjacket, either. Trouble with you, Benton Fraser, is you're a coward. You hide behind these stupid ideas of yours, and you don't even see who you hurt." I'm suddenly angry, and I don't know why. He looks at me, surprised at my emotion. "Yeah, you ran away from me, you told yourself it was for honour, the right thing to do - didn't ya? Don't deny it, I can see it in your face...."

"I'm not ..."

"Better not.  See, what really pisses me off about this whole fucking business is that we've been partners, one way or another, for five years, Fraser - five good, long, hard years. And the first time there's a crisis, a real problem, what do you do? - you run away. You don't talk to me, you don't give me a chance - you don't trust me. What the hell does that tell me about our relationship?" I get up and walk away, look out the window onto the street. I didn't know I had all this still inside me. Great - destroy where we've managed to get to, Kowalski. Make him feel bad again.

"You really don't have a clue, do you, Ray Kowalski." His soft voice, and the bitter tone, makes me snap round to him. Oh, yeah. He's angry. He's not jumping up and down, smack someone mad - he's beyond that.

"You lecture me, you call me a coward. You have no idea what you're talking about. You have no idea, do you, that when I went to the hotel that night, after I left, that I had my father's gun with me. And the bullets. And that I wrote you a letter. To say goodbye, the way you keep demanding I should have done. That would have made you happy, I imagine: a farewell note, and a call from the police to come and identify your partner's body. But I couldn't do that to you - I didn't care about me, I knew what I had done was beyond forgiveness, and I wanted to die, but all I could think about was you, and what that would do to you. So I made myself unload the gun, and flush the note down the toilet. I made myself go to work, and apply for a transfer, and do all the _dutiful_ things, the _honourable_ things," his voice twists into a quiet sneer, " _for_ you, Ray. Because I couldn't do it _to_ you. I tried to make things work up here. I know you don't believe me, but I wasn't trying to kill myself, I really wasn't. I just couldn't remember what I'd done, or why, even though I knew ... it was inexcusable. But there was just so much pain, it hurt, and I .... and I couldn't...." He breaks off,and curls over his knees, heels of his hands pressed hard against his eyes, hiding himself from me. The cruel, unthinking accusing me, who didn't have a clue, didn't know. But I do now. I have no excuse now.

I go and sit next to him, and wrap my arms around his shaking back, letting the harsh sobs wrenching out of him shake me too. Answering tears spring up in my own eyes. I try and pull him into my arms, but he's all hunched up in his own world of hurt. "Ben. God. I'm sorry. I didn't know. Please stop crying. I'm sorry. It's over. It's okay." He lifts his head, and uncovers his face, turns drenched, bitter eyes to mine.

"Is it? "His quiet voice is still full of anger. "Can we ever go back to the way it was? Can I ever make love to you again? Won't you always remember .... what you saw?"

"I don't know," I say honestly. "But I do want to make love to you, and I know you will want to make love to me again. You like it too ...."

"Yes, and that's the _fucking_ problem, isn't it?" The raw self-hatred in his voice shocks me more than the swearing. "I'm so out of control, the second I let myself go, I wreck everyone's life - yours, mine - Ray Vecchio's over Victoria. Even Victoria's life. God - maybe it would be better if I did shoot myself, stopped myself doing all this damage every time I let my _penis_ think for me." He tears himself away from me, and stalks angrily away, right over to the other side of the room, holding himself again. I follow him over. His face is a mask of anger, and misery - and physical pain.

"Your gut hurts again, doesn't it?" He nods, sharply, as if he's angry to have to admit it. I put my arms around him, but he's stiff. "Ben, let go. Let me in. This is doing you and me no good. I know why you're mad. You got reason to be. But let it go - it's making you sick." He slides to the floor, on his knees, arms holding the pain in, his feelings in. I sink down beside him. He's closed off from me, even though I'm right here. I keep holding him, while his breath comes in sharp painful gasps, and he refuses to look at me. "Ben - you're just running away again." Shit - the wrong thing to say. He suddenly pushes against me so hard, I fall back, and he jumps to his feet.

"Stay away from me, Ray," he snarls. I stay on the floor, wondering what the hell I've unleashed. He pulls on his coat, and calls Dief, and without a look backwards, walks out.

Oh my God. I sit on the floor, hugging my knees. I'm losing him all over again, and it hurts worse than before. I didn't think that was possible.

It's gotten dark, and I've moved over to the sofa, lost in my head, going over the fuck-ups of the past few months - and the past few hours - when I hear the door. I don't bother to look. I hear quiet footsteps, and then he's sitting opposite me. He appears calmer, maybe a little shame-faced. I can't think what to say, don't want to set him off. How much more did I hurt him?

"Have you eaten?" I shake my head, and he makes no move to the kitchen. I should, I know, make a meal, and watch him eat it, but I wonder now what's the point? He hates me, he hates himself - it's just prolonging the agony. Wonder if there's still two bullets left in his dad's gun?

"I went down to headquarters, spoke to my sergeant. I asked for a week's leave. He said to take it as sick leave - in fact he suggested I take two weeks, but I said I would see how things went after a week."

I still say nothing. Does this mean he's admitting he's got a problem, or that his boss is?

"I... I'm going up to Inuvik to see Maggie for this week. You can stay here, if you need to."

"What do you want me to do, Ben?"

"Go home, Ray," he says quietly, not looking at me, destroying me.

"I have no home, Ben. Not without you."

"You have the house...."

I shake my head. "I rented the house, everything's in storage. Been staying with Welsh." He looks at me. "I couldn't stand it any more. Everything I did there, everything I touched reminded me of you. And it just fucking hurt, okay? You had plenty to say about that before, but you never asked about me. How I felt. You just assumed I was mad at you, and that was it - that's okay. Well, it isn't. I'm hurt, and I'm lonely and I'm lost and I do not know what the fuck I am gonna do without you, so if you want to go and have a fucking pity party up in Inuvik with your sister, you go right ahead, Fraser - just don't forget there were _two_ people in our joke of  a marriage."

He sits very still. "Didn't you think it was the real thing?"

"Yeah, I damn well did, you  son of a bitch - it was you who turned tail and ran off, without even a real fucking divorce, or a card or ... or ..." What, Kowalski? Did you want him to throw you a party? "It was you who didn't think it was real."

"I did, Ray. I do. That's why I still wear my ring."

"Well, we both do, so what does that tell you?"

He's quiet for a minute. "That we both took it seriously....:

" _Take_ , Fraser .... _take_ it seriously. It ain't over - not until you get in your jeep and go to Inuvik and I climb aboard that plane. Then it's over."

"An ultimatum, then."

"Stop jerking my chain, Ben. You don't even want to try - you want to wallow in misery, you want me to have a shitty life so you can feel all good and noble and unhappy for your great crime. You know, it's a big fucking shame you weren't raised Catholic, cos if you were, you'd have learnt one big fucking lesson - you do the sin, you confess, you get your penance, absolution, and then it's over. Dot it, file it, stick it in a box marked 'Done'. But you - there ain't enough Hail Mary's in the whole frigging world to satisfy you, are there? Or is it me you think should be doing the penance - you punishing me for doing this to you? Would it make you feel better just to punch me out - for coming up here and making you mad?"

I stand up and haul him up bodily. "Okay, then, Mountie - give it your best shot. Punch me. Right here," pointing to my jaw. He doesn't move. I pick up his hand, and curl it into a fist. "Come on, Ben, I tried everything else - if hitting someone will help, hit me. Do anything you want - just don't give up on us."

He pulls his hand away from me.

"Don't be silly, Ray. I don't want to hurt you - you've done nothing wrong." He sits down again and hangs his head.

I'm going squirrelly - I'm tired, I'm hungry, I'm worried, and talking to Ben is like fighting with your own shadow. We're just feeding each other's misery, feeding _off_ each other's misery. Only way out is to call it off, stop going round in circles. I watch him, and make my decision.

"You got a spare pillow and blanket somewhere?" He looks at me, confused. "Ben - I quit. You win. I want to go to sleep, and I figure you don't want me in your bed after this. So, pillow? Blanket?"

He stands up, and shakes his head. "No, take the bed. I'll use my bed roll in another room." I go to the bathroom and get ready. When I come back, he's still standing in the middle of the living room. I think he wants to say something to me, but he doesn't say anything.

I sleep in fits and starts, dreaming of Ben, dreaming of finding him dead, of him leaving me, of him punching me, me hitting him. After one nasty nightmare, I roll over and find him sitting on the bed, watching me.

"What?" I grunt out at him.

"You were having a nightmare, Ray."

"Not your problem, Ben." I roll back over and pull the blankets over my head. I don't want to do this all over again in the middle of the night. To my surprise, he doesn't leave.

"Go back to bed, Ben. I'm fine."

"I was wondering ... if I could join you, after all."

What? Well, okay. All right. "It's your bed, Ben."

I scooch over and give him room. He slides in under the covers, and amazingly, blissfully, he moves up behind me and puts his arms around me. I can hardly believe it, and wonder if maybe I'm just dreaming again, but I don't care. It's been so long since he held me in bed. I move back against him, so we're as tight as I can make it. He puts his head, as he used to, into the back of my neck, and I can't bite back a little sigh of pleasure.

"I do love you, Ray," he says quietly, into the short hairs.

"I'm sorry for what I said, Ben. You're not a coward. I shouldn't have said that."

"Yes. But you were right about the rest of it. In parts." I don't ask what parts - don't want to mess up the miracle that he is here with me again, after so long. "I don't have to go to Inuvik."

"I thought you wanted to."

"I thought I needed to. But perhaps what I really need is you. "

"Don't you want me to leave?"

"I thought you should .... for your own good."

My heart sinks. "But what if I don't want to?"

"Then stay. "

"Do you mind?"

He gives out a short laugh, and then his breath catches, as if he's choking back something other than laughter.

"No. I don't _mind,_ Ray. Not in the least."

" 'S good, Ben." I'm falling asleep again - the warmth of his body always did that for me. Then I hear his voice, whisper soft.

"I'm lost and I don't know where to go."

"You can follow me, Ben - I know the way out," I mumble, and he kisses the back of my neck.

"You do, don't you. Go to sleep, Ray."

 

* * *

I wake up with a warm body behind me, and sun pouring in the window in front of me, and for a second I'm back in Chicago, on a Sunday morning, thinking of making love to Ben, before we have breakfast in bed and then make love again. But then I know I'm not. In Chicago. Or going to make love to Ben. Except that warm body _is_ Ben, for what it's worth. I try and remember the strange late night conversation. Somehow, I feel.... better. He's not angry at me any more, even if he's pissed off at the rest of his life. That's enough, for now. I hope, anyway.

I roll and twist so I'm facing him. His blue eyes are open, and looking straight at me.

"Hi," I say, meaninglessly.

"Hello, Ray." For a moment, he's solemn faced, but then a slow smile spreads, and he moves forward, lips moving, ready for me. I bridge the gap, and our mouths touch - gently at first, and then hardier, needier, and then he holds me tighter, and my head is in the curve of his neck, where it's been a thousand times, and whatever else is wrong with us, this is so right and perfect.

"Oh, God, Ben." Meaningless. He understands.

He pulls back so I can see his face.

"So ... should we start again?"

I nod, and kiss him gently.

"Yeah. A do-over."

He gets out of bed to use the bathroom. "Shall I make coffee?"

"Yeah. You gonna eat breakfast?"

He pulls a face. "As long as it's not oatmeal."

I sit up and look at him. "You gonna try though? Cos I can't really keep forcing this. It gets old."

"No, Ray. I will try. You're right. I can't keep running." And with that, he goes out. I wait until I hear the toilet flush, and him in the kitchen, before I make my own pitstop and then join him in the kitchen.

God, this feels right too. Ben in the kitchen, in his boxers and a t-shirt, me watching him cook, just watching him. Except for the skinniness. Battle scars.

I dig out the muffins I bought yesterday. No microwave - they'll be cold. Put them on a plate and follow Ben into the living room, put the muffins on the table.

"These okay?" He nods and takes one, takes his tea too. Looks at me with the face of a stranger. A stranger with way too thin a face, and drowned eyes, and a world of hate and pain inside him that I just had no idea about. Wonder if it was always there, or if it's only since.... But it's part of Ben now, and I got to deal with the whole package - or not at all. And not at all is ... not an option, for me. Not any more.

I drink my coffee, eat the cold muffin. He's picking slowly at his, but he is eating, and there's no sign that his stomach is acting up.

"So what do we do?"

"I don't know. You said to follow you, so I'm going to do that."

"I did?" I don't remember that. "Well, okay. You want to hear the plan, is that it?" He nods, grinning. I'm being teased a little, and it feels damn good. Pathetic, in a grown man. "Right. First. Three squares a day. No skipping. Then walk. Talk. Hug. Kiss. Talk more."

"Make love? " he says softly. I look at him, trying to work out if he seems hopeful or frightened, but he just looks ... interested.

"Maybe. When you're ready. There's no time limit here."

"You go back in two weeks."

I shake my head. "Ben, just forget about that for the moment, will ya? One day at a time. That's the best you can do."

"Did Eleanor tell you that?"

"Yeah - how did you guess?"

"She said that, when I was waiting and hoping for you to get well, in the hospital."

"You see? Worked, didn't it."

He stands up, and comes over to me, puts his arm around the back of my shoulders. "Yes. So. Does a muffin count as a square meal, or do I have to force something else down?" I choke on my coffee. That sounds almost lewd, for Ben. But he's serious.

"Whatever. You still hungry?"

"I rarely am, these days. It's like remembering to start a car up every so often that you don't drive any more."

"I'll boil you an egg, if you like." Wait for it.....

"Ray, I may be half-deranged, but I am not so off my head that I have forgotten that you have no concept of the correct way to soft-boil an egg. _I'll_ do it." I grin as competent Mountie overrides fucked-up Mountie and marches him into the kitchen, to undertake the care and handling of the perfect breakfast.

 

* * *

To wake up wrapped around Ray this morning was to know peace for the first time since that dreadful night three months ago. Dreams that have tortured me since then, tantalising me with the memory of perfect happiness, suddenly realised. Even remembering the bitterness, the rawness of yesterday, doesn't erase the exquisite joy of the feel of his golden skin, the scent of his hair. And when he wakes, I know he feels the same about being with me. That he is generous enough to let me try again, doesn't surprise me - he is, after all, a generous and a kind person. For him, I will try to overcome this mountain of anger and self-loathing that I was only, at last, able to give expression to yesterday. I frightened him, I know - I frightened myself. I would cut my arm off before I do as he suggested and punch him to relieve that pain - but all the same, I feel the need to do _something_. My rage is unfocussed - perhaps I should direct it at the only person who has caused all of this, but unfortunately all I have succeeded in doing is giving myself a chronically irritated gastric nerve, and yelling at - swearing at - the one person I never want to drive from me.

I am well aware of what he is doing by offering to boil the egg, and play along, hoping that by rebuilding the semblance of normality, the appearance will be matched by substance. And in truth, I have a better appetite than I have had in months - although that is not saying much at all. My sergeant, a kindly if rather staid man, made some rather pointed remarks about officers who do not maintain themselves and so fall into dereliction of their duty, but all the same, he told me he had been concerned about me for some time, and was waiting for me to admit that I could not deal with things. When I told him my former partner - I did not elaborate - had come up and wanted to help, it was clear he was tremendously relieved, telling me to sort myself out before I report back. I really don't know what I have done to deserve the kindness I have found in my co-workers over the years, but I am profoundly grateful for it.

After breakfast, Ray suggests that I walk Dief as usual, and he will accompany me. The weather this summer has been glorious, a fact utterly wasted on me until now, but Ray is appreciative.

"You wouldn't guess seeing it in the winter, how nice it can be, would you, Ben?"

"No, but obviously word has gotten out," I say gesturing at the latest tourist arrivals, and nodding, as we pass, to the locals who acknowledge me with a smile.

"Is this where you saw yourself when we talked about moving up here?"

"Somewhere like this. Perhaps somewhere less crowded." That earns me a wry grin. "What about you?" This is presumptuous in the extreme - only yesterday I was trying to make him leave. We have reached the outskirts of the settlement, and Dief has raced off in search of live nutritional supplements. Ray stops and turns round, looks at the mountains, the woods, the sparkling air.

"Yeah. I could see myself here. It's beautiful."

We are on our own, so I can take his hand. "This is the first time since I got here that I haven't hated it."

"Christ, Ben," he says in a choked voice, and I draw him to me, and hold him for several minutes. Then I hear voices coming our way, so I release him, and we walk on, our bodies almost touching. I can feel my soul regenerating, just having him beside me. There is a clearing from where I often stage my walks and we sit under a fir tree. Dief comes and touches base, then disappears.

"He likes it here."

"He misses the doughnuts, but yes, it's good for him."

"Good for you?" He is carefully not looking at me.

I touch his face, and then he turns to me.

"I miss things in Chicago."

"Like?"

"This." I kiss him softly, and his arms come up around me, a low growl in his throat.

"Ben ... please," and I don't know what he's asking for, but I know he wants everything, me, an end to pain. I hold him tightly, knowing I cannot yet give him the world, but he has me, has me forever. We sit for a long time, let our bodies and our touch say what simple words cannot.

"Will you come back?"

Regretfully, I have to shake my head. "I can't, Ray. I've pretty much used up all my favours pushing for the Chicago post the second time and then to come here. I can't move again so soon."

He nods, he understands.

"Would .... can you stay here?" I ask

"If I say 'yes', what would you say?"

I have to consider this. Coming to Canada had been one of our plans for the future, but the circumstances could hardly be less favourable. But if I rebuff him, what is there for me? Or for him? Is this a time for selfishness, to save both of us?

"I think I would say that would make me very happy indeed, Ray."

He snorts at my school-marmish phraseology.

"Okay. Yes."

"Really?"

"Yes, really, Fraser. Jeez, hunger pains affecting _your_ hearing now?"

This sounds so much the Ray I worked with in Chicago that I have to stop myself looking to see if I am wearing my red serge, which I haven't worn since I came here. "But what about your job?"

"I can quit any time. I had a heart to heart with my boss before I came up, and he said if I resigned, they'd give me a good reference. And I can come back, if I want. I did what I needed to - proved I wasn't useless anymore. But you know I was never that hot on it. Time for a new gig."

"You don't have to decide now."

"I know that. Ask me in a week."

"Okay." Dief has become bored with decimating the local rodent population, and has returned to affirm contact with his long-lost packmate. Ray has clearly missed the wolf - I wonder how desperate he must have felt to have sent him back to me. I recall what he said about Lieutenant Welsh, and a fresh wave of guilt engulfs me. It was wrong of me to have left without saying anything to him - he was my colleague as well as a deeply loved friend. Ray was right - I did run away, and as my father pointed out to me so many years ago, running away never really solves anything. Ray notices that I have become buried in myself again.

"Hey, Earth to Ben. You ready for lunch?"

I nod, and stand up. I offer him my hand and I pull him up, into my arms. "You were getting pretty intense there again. You want to share?"

"It's nothing." That earns me a warning look from spouse and partner. "I was thinking about Welsh, actually."

"I'd miss him, if we lived here."

"As would I - I do."

"You know I think he had a thing for Thatcher?"

I express my astonishment, and he lays out his rather tenuous evidence on our way back.

"You know, Ray, I wouldn't hang someone on deductions of that order," I say to him as we walk in the front door.

"Being attracted to someone isn't an offence, Ben," and I know he's not talking about Welsh here. I let it go. Nothing _he_ can say can absolve me, because he is walking evidence of the harm I have done. But, in time, I may come to accept that punishing two people for an inadvertent sin is more than even my own stringent code of conduct demands.

Ray makes a light lunch, and although I am still not hungry, I manage a decent effort. I smile to myself, recalling his trick with the ice-cream yesterday. The only regret I had in marrying him was that in taking up with me, he was denying himself children. Perhaps that is why he is so good to me - it's a kind of surrogate parenthood.

He suggests chess, which is an excellent idea - the pure intellectual effort required gives me a much needed respite from the still-swirling thoughts in my head. He brings me to check rather more quickly than I was expecting.

"You've improved, Ray."

"Welsh and me started playing regular. He's one mean mother at this."

That is a side of the lieutenant I have yet to see.

"I thought I detected a certain ... maturity ... in your game I hadn't noticed before."

He looks at me with narrowed eyes. "You calling me childish, Mountie?"

"Juvenile, perhaps." He flicks a defeated pawn at me. "Oh, I'm impressed, Ray. You've certainly won me over with your logic on this one."

"Logic, smogic. It's your turn - old man." Well, that's unkind - I mean, I'm only a year older than him, and he'll be forty this year.

"Just for that, you get to go to bed early, Junior." He looks at me speculatively. He has been exceedingly careful to keep his touches affectionate, gentle, without pressure for more. To be honest, I just don't know how I'll feel. It is frustrating - somewhat frightening - not being able to  remember having intercourse with Marie Arnoldt. Will I remember suddenly, during sex with Ray? Will he be able to put the images of what he saw out of his mind?

"Ben?" he says, calling me out of my reverie.

"Sorry, Ray - I was miles away."

"Remind me to get you to give me a road map to that place you keep going off to."

"I don't think you really want to go there."

"I'd go anywhere, to bring you back." He is suddenly determined, and I realise, he is saying the literal truth. He has, after all, followed me to the most unlikely places, out of planes, off buildings - my mind probably holds no terrors at all for him. "You were saying something about bed?" And, as always, he has a firm grasp on the essentials.

"Now?" It's only mid afternoon - golden sun streaming in over the table where we have set up the chess board.

He stands up. "Tuck me in, Ben?" There is nothing even remotely child-like about this invitation, but nor is there any pressure - he is simply offering, and if I refuse, he will accept that, and we will keep playing chess. Playing games, until I am ready. I am ready, I think. I think I would like to at least try.

I take his hand, and lead him into the bedroom. At the bedside, I turn to him and pull him into a long embrace, my hands moving gently over his back, his hands under my shirt and at my waistband, skin against skin. My mouth meets his, and his careful, questing tongue is admitted, reconnecting us, joining us, memorising my taste. I feel his erection through his jeans, and I press him closer, so that he can feel mine. He moans softly. I move us back until the back of my knees hits the bed, then, holding him, supporting him, I drop down onto it. His hands are already working at my jeans buttons and zipper, then he undoes my shirt, but he makes no move to undress me. I am bolder, and push his T-shirt up under his armpits, and tug it upwards. He briefly releases me so I can pull it off over his head. Then I release his jeans, and push them downwards, and he completes it by dragging his jeans and briefs down and off, in a single easy movement.

And so, there he is, naked and beautiful, open to me. Normally he would complain about my remaining fully clothed, but he says nothing, only making soft, sighing noises of need and pleasure as I caress him, stroke his long flank, and over his hip, down the cleft of his buttocks, and then back over to his hard and perfect penis. He groans as I seize it, and fumbles through my open jeans, through my boxers, to find my own erection. His warm hand engulfs the tip, then down, rubbing a gentle thumb over the crown, moving the pre-ejaculate delicately over it like a precious unguent. He looks into my eyes, and sees only need and desire, while in his own wide, blue, beautiful ones, I see pupils dilated to their fullest extent by passion, liquid with love and want.

He claims my mouth at the same time that he begins to move his hand in a slow, familiar, much longed for rhythm, making me lose concentration momentarily as I gasp, lost in the delicious sensation. I feel his long mouth smile against mine. "That's it, Ben. Go for it," and that is all the encouragement I need to reciprocate. I stroke him too, matching him, matching our breathing which is in tune, as we are, our mouths anchoring us, our hands playing the other like musical instruments, bringing out the soft, erotic sounds of love that, oh god, I have missed, like life itself, for so long. I can feel by the little movements of his hips, and the increasingly urgent thrusting of his tongue that he is as close as me. His eyes close briefly, but as the wave of his orgasm crests and breaks, he opens them, staring into my own, watching me come, and what I see in them is devotion and love and everything I will ever want or need, have ever wanted or needed. He kisses me again as the last tremors of climax move us, a tender affirmation of what we have shared, then he tucks his head into the hollow of my neck. I clasp him tightly, pressing our messy bodies together, inhaling the sweet smells of him, our lovemaking, which finally start to make this barren room home to me. Home is where he is. It always will be.

"You okay?" he asks, softly.

I nod against him. "Yes. For the first time in a very, very long time."

He turns up to me, so he can kiss me again. "You know who you're with?"

"Yes. My love. My life. My partner. Stanley Raymond Kowalski. I claim you."

"And I you, Benton Fraser."

We lie together until it becomes clear that unless one of us moves, we will become physically inseparable, and romantic as that may sound, it is impractical. He reaches for his T-shirt, and wipes the worst off both of us, but makes no move to clean up further, instead moving back up into my arms.

He touches my shirt, which I am still wearing. "Did it help, keeping this on?"

"I'm afraid that it was simply a question of not wanting to waste time taking it off," I say, and he laughs - a delicious, carefree sound, a sound that I have missed along with everything else about this glorious man.

"Who'd have thought it, Ben Fraser, too lazy to prepare properly?"

"I hadn't noticed my performance - or yours - was impeded in any way."

"Impeded - that something to do with feet?" He's teasing again.

"Playing down to expectations again, Ray?"

He snuggles in closer. "You never let me get away with that, do you? It's why I love you."

"Oh, and here I was thinking you wanted me for my body."

"Well, Ben, I have to say, until you pack some weight back on, I'll just have to love you for your mind." He smiles to take the bite out of an unpleasant truth. "There's something I want to ask, but I don't want you getting all moody on me." He looks at me questioningly.

"Go ahead - I'm still post-orgasmic, so I don't think I'll have a tantrum."

"Only 'think', eh, Fraser?" He rolls over, until he is flat, and I am leaning over him, waiting.

"Do you mind that we don't, you know ...."

"What, Ray?"

"Anal sex. That we don't..."

"No."

"No?"

"Not at all. Not at any point. "

"You sure?"

"Mounties don't lie, remember?"

"Good. Uh. Cos I did wonder if ...." He's clearly uncertain about my reaction, but I think I can work the rest out.

"You thought I wanted to sleep with a woman because we don't have penetrative sex?"

He nods. "Wouldn't have used those words, but yeah. I mean, you're bi, I'm bi. We did used to."

"I don't find it necessary for my personal happiness to explore the full panoply of sexual experience with every partner." He looks slightly stunned, and realise I have lapsed into bombast. "What I mean, Ray, is that one could do everything, but not all with the same person. Just because it's possible doesn't make it obligatory."

"Like sex with a penguin."

The pure idiocy and indecency of this image forces a laugh out of me, and when I recover, I find his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Ray, you do have the most peculiar brain, did you know that?"

"We're two of a kind, Ben."

"Well, thank God for that, because no-one else would put up with me."

He sits up, still grinning. "Come on, lazy Mountie, we can't stay in bed all afternoon. I want to go out."

Dief approves of a second outing, and I'm only too glad to share the warm summer late afternoon with Ray. The tourists have disappeared, into their hotels or on their excursions, and the townsfolk are closing up shop and going home, leaving the main street deserted.

"Ask me again, Ben," he says suddenly.

"What, Ray?"

"Ask me to stay."

"Don't you want more time?"

"No. Ask me."

"You want me on bended knee?"

"Here? Are you out of your mind?"

"Very often, Ray. All right. Will you stay with me?"

"Yes."

"Okay."

"So we're...."

"I think so...."

"Good." He grins. "I want you to come back for a few days, though. There's things to sort out, and Welsh will want to see you."

"Okay. We could fly down at the end of the week."

"Yeah."

"Good." And there it is. Simple and effective, as most of Ray's solutions to problems are. Whereas I would analyse something to death, and very likely die of frustration, Ray's answer is "Just do it. And if you want to argue, I'll pop you one." We are indeed a duet, as he so long ago described. Yin to his yang, major to my minor chords. I think too much.

And so the week passes. I appreciate the care Ray has brought to bear on my depression, my anger, bringing his experiences from the past to the fore to help me. I, in turn, try to restore the trust and friendship of which our love-making is only the logical extension. It seems only fitting that what we so nearly lost through sex without love should be repaired in the love we share and show in sex and in every other way. Maintaining a regular food intake, and time spent quietly talking, has done much to ease my physical decline and symptoms, and when the occasional cramp occurs, despite our best efforts, Ray rubs my back, applies heat, and soothes me. Not being used to prolonged illness of any type, I am anxious to put it behind me, although as Ray has pointed out, worrying about it will only delay my recovery. Still, the progress I have made in a week, and the way we have fitted together again, makes me optimistic for the future in a way that I can only barely remember, even though it was only three months, three weeks and four days ago that I thought my world could not be improved upon.

Ray has garnered information about employment prospects in town, although, between his pension, my salary, and the rent on our Chicago house, any work at this point is more to keep his active brain engaged. He's rejected the idea of working for the main employer here, the oil company, and instead is looking with interest at an empty retail outlet. He asks me, shyly, if I thought he'd be any good as a shop keeper, to which idea I respond enthusiastically. The thought of a camping/book/art store is an excellent one, and he offers to make me his silent partner, an offer I am seriously considering. But what encourages me the most is his willingness to throw himself into life up here - he doesn't see it as a sacrifice, but as the next stage of his life with me. I will endeavour to make him never regret the decision.

We take a cab from the airport to Lieutenant Welsh's house - he has been kind enough to let me stay in Ray's room for our short visit. Ray starts the process of arranging for our belongings to be sent up north, while I set a stew going. Then I call Dr Durand - Ray has insisted that I should talk to her at least once.

"Ben, we can't afford to let this fester, and I'm no expert. You like her, don't you?"

"Yes, of course I do."

"And you trust her, and she knows what happened to me - and to you. It won't hurt - much."

I arrange to see her the next day. There are various matters to clear up from the legal side of things - Ray never did permit my attempted assignment of my half share of the house to him, so I am still joint owner of that, and joint signatory on bank accounts and the like. His unwillingness to surrender our life together, even when I had given him every reason and encouragement to do so, still astounds me. He is a tenacious man, my Ray.

The lieutenant comes home at six, and greets me with a huge grin and an enthusiastic handshake. "Fraser, you have no idea how glad I am to see you here again."

"Well, sir, if you are as happy as I am, then I am flattered."

"Come and sit. Ray, you done good. Ben - you gonna join us in a beer for once?" And I do, even though the attraction of American beer has thus far, and still does, completely elude me. It is a symbolic thing - an expression of unity and of friendship, and a prelude to farewell. I look at the big man, still grinning from ear to ear.

"Sir, I wanted to thank you for your efforts regarding Miss Arnoldt - and to apologise for not saying goodbye."

"Apology accepted, Constable - but you know you coulda talked to me about it, don't you?"

"Yes, sir. Now I do. But I wasn't thinking too clearly at the time." I glance at Ray, who gives me a wry look.

"You know, if there hadn't been that damn video, I'd have never have believed it ..."

"I know. I'm sure that's why she sent it."

"Well, she's not gonna do it again, that's for sure." Both Ray and I look at him with interest, his face gone serious. "I had a word or three with Meg - uh, Inspector Thatcher - about it. Miss Arnoldt has been told, from the highest office, that a repeat of what she did to you will land her up in court for assault - and, she's agreed to undergo intensive therapy to see if her 'issues' can be dealt with. It's been made clear to her that they'd better be, if she doesn't want to end up in jail."

It's not enough, it could never be, but short of shooting her, which is Ray's preferred option, or locking her up in an asylum, one of my favorite ideas, there is little more we can do.

"Thank you, sir. And will you thank Meg Thatcher when you next speak to her?"

He actually blushes, and I now give slightly more credence to Ray's deductions. "That I will, Ben."

We eat, and Welsh listens to Ray's enthusiastic depiction of our future life in Norman Wells. I detect more than a note of regret in the lieutenant's responses, as does Ray.

"You know, Lieu, the fishing's pretty good up there - and Ben's got plenty of room."

"Yes, sir - you'd be more than welcome to visit, for however long you'd like."

A smile breaks out on his craggy face. "That'd be great, boys. I'll take you up on that."

And so, while one life is ending down here, and a new one will begin soon, I see that it doesn't have to be a clean break. I can bring the best of what I have gained from Chicago, and give something back to those left behind. It is a good feeling, one to add to the newly rediscovered ones of marriage and love with Ray.

The next day, Ray drops me off at the care home out of which Dr Durand practices, while he goes into town to see his employers, and to take care of other business. She is as warm and friendly as ever, and genuinely pleased to see me, although she can't resist making comment on my weight loss.

"Are you dealing with this now, Ben?"

"Ray has it in hand, Eleanor. I can safely say it's not likely to slip his attention."

She laughs - she knows as well as I do how doggedly determined my partner is, once he gets an idea into his head. "So, apart from that - how do you feel?"

"Better. Happier. Still angry that I came so close to losing everything. It was only plain luck that I didn't. If Ray hadn't put the evidence together...."

She nods. "And about the woman - and what happened?"

"I feel sick every time I think about it. I still can't remember what happened - I don't know if I want to, but at the same time, I feel frustrated that something like that could occur and that I would not know about it."

"I could help you to remember - I've studied hypnosis. But could you handle it?" I consider this. I really don't know the answer. She watches me struggle with the decision, and relieves me of it. "We can deal with that later, Ben. What's important is how you go on from here."

We talk for over two hours, about the assault, for that is what it is - about my need for a rigid moral code and structure in my life. She encourages me to draw on Ray's assistance. "You know, that partner of yours is very strong - let him carry you for a while. It'll help you both, and he knows what he's about. He's got good instincts."

I smile. "He always did have."

We part, shaking hands, with the agreement that I can call her at any time, and even visit at short notice, should I need to. I do feel better. Ray was right. She was right - he's strong, and he can guide me through this better than anyone.

He picks me up after I call his cell phone. "So?"

"I'm good, Ray."

He squeezes my hand, and takes us back to Welsh's house.

The week passes quickly and I am surprised at the degree of regret I feel in severing our ties with this city I have called home for so long. But when I express this to Ray, he shrugs. "It's only buildings and streets, Ben. Home is where you make it."

"And where's home for you?"

As if I didn't know. Right on cue, he places a hand over my heart.

"Here, you freak. You know that."

"Yes, Ray. I do."

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written nearly twenty years ago under another pseudonym. It hasn't been revised since then.
> 
> I am posting this and my other stories from this period purely so people can read them if they choose. I won't be reading comments, and don't care if you leave kudos. I'm dumping them and running.
> 
> Having said that, I worked hard on them, and I hope they still entertain someone out there.


End file.
